


Migraine

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, having a mind like his came with its own problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fic I wrote up the other day. I've read a few fics out there about Reid getting headaches and such from too much imformation (stimuli) and I just went a step further. ^^; Although I do not suffer from migraines myself, I know people who do and they tell me they feel horrid during and after and that light/sound/touch often hurts when they're having a migraine. Although I'm not sure if what I describe in here is what it's actually called, we'll just say it is and get on with our day. Enjoy!!

Migraines

The moment he steps into the club with the others, he knows something’s off. They’re all in casual dress, trying to blend in, to keep the Unsub unawares of their presence. They’ve paired off, Hotch with JJ, Rossi with Prentiss, and he’s with Morgan.

He’s not been in a club like this before, the music blaring, vibrating his rib cage, bass beating with his heart. There are lights flashing, lasers going. The mass of bodies on the dance floor frightens him, looking like a huge beast that wants to drag him under.

Morgan looks unaffected, grinning easily as they slide around the edge of the floor. They’re the bait and eventually, they’ll need to go onto the dance floor, but he puts it off, sipping his drink. There’s a small throb behind his eye, but it’s easily ignored.

Eventually though, they make it out and it’s not so bad. Morgan keeps most of the pressing bodies at bay. He’s not a good dancer, never has been but he doesn’t make a total fool of himself, letting Morgan steer him, hand on a hip here, on a shoulder there. He spots one of the others every once in a while, watching them, watching the crowd, searching.

The air around them is hot and humid and he’s starting to get thirsty. Suddenly, the volume surges, bodies jumping all around them as a new song blares. The lights change, flashing faster, strobe lights joining in. They’re being shoved this way and that, Morgan trying to get them clear.

He gets only the briefest warning, the dull ache from before suddenly disappearing before he’s hit by a steamroller, or the equivalent of one. He staggers, Morgan’s arms holding him up as his head screams and his eyes water. His stomach roils, and he shuts his eyes, trying to fight off the waves of pain.

He hasn’t had migraines like this since he was a child. He’d thought they were done. Morgan’s practically dragging him out, yelling something he can’t hear over the roaring in his ears. They step outside and the sudden lack of noise is worse, a slap in the face and a punch in the gut and he’s doubled over, heaving his drink and whatever else up.

He hears others around him, but he can only hold himself up, trying to get a grip on his stomach. Someone’s hand grabs his arm, voice concerned by the sound of it and he can’t stop the yell that escapes as a spike seems to stab into head, right behind his eye.

“Morgan, don’t.” Hotch has arrived then. He can hear the others around him, but it’s muted. “Reid, Reid, can you hear me?” He nods, Hotch is right next to him, and of course he can hear him, even if it’s a little muted. “Has this ever happened before?”

He nods again. “When I was younger,” he forces out.

“Hotch, what the hell is wrong?” Morgan, sounding worried.

“He’s got a sensory migraine from stimulus overload. It happens to some people. It must have been the strobe lights that triggered it. We need to get him somewhere quiet where he can let it run its course. Reid…Spenser, can you stand?” He nods again. “Good, I’m going to help you up, is that all right?” He nods again. Bracing himself, he tries his best to ignore the extra stimulation, but a whimper still escapes at the pain.

“This way,” a hand on his shirt, guiding him by small tugs. Hotch has to touch him again, to get him in the SUV, but after that it’s quiet and he can just rest in the seat, eyes still closed and just breathe and hope the pain lessens a little.

He can feel eyes on him and can hear Morgan breathing shallowly beside him, as if afraid if he breathes too loud, it will hurt him. “I’ll be all right,” he mumbles aloud. “Did we get him?”

“Yay, pretty boy, we got him,” Morgan answers.

~*~

It’s quiet in his apartment, all the lights off in his bedroom. He’s got a cool towel over his face, aspirin in his stomach and a soft bed underneath him. He can hear Morgan in the other room, left here to look after him until he’s better. It’s been a few hours now, the migraine has worn off and now it feels like a memory, except he feels wrung out, muscles aching and body tense as he waits for the next wave of pain.

Pulling the towel off slowly, he peeks through his lashes, waiting for the stab of pain. There’s no pain and he turns over looking at the door. Dim light shines under the crack and when that doesn’t hurt his eyes, he sits up.

His stomach gives an uncertain lurch and settles, edgy but not too unhappy. It will be a while before he can stomach anything without it coming up. Climbing off the bed, he slowly walks to the door opening it. The light strengthens, but beside from his eyes watering at the sudden light, there’s no pain.

“Hey pretty boy, how you feeling?” Morgan asks, coming closer, but not touching.

“Better. Thank you,” he replies. Shuffling over to the sofa, he sits.

“Can I get you any thing? Food?” he shakes his head at that. “Water?” he considers it and nods. He’s thirsty and it shouldn’t trouble his stomach. Morgan soon returns, handing him the glass. He takes it without touching Morgan’s hand and sips cautiously. It’s cool and soothes the ache of his throat, washing away the stomach acid that still lingered there.

Setting the half full glass on the table, he looks at Morgan. “I’m sorry about this. I should have realized this–,” he starts.

“Reid, stop. You couldn’t have known what would have happened. Even you can’t know everything, brainiac.” Morgan grins at him and he smiles back, feeling his equilibrium slide back into place at Morgan’s usual banter. Things would be fine.

 **End.**


End file.
